


The Morning After

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Humor, Injury, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The others adjust on the benches uncomfortably, each sporting a pensive look as they consider the mystery of Reiner’s sore throat.</p><p>“Must’ve slept with my mouth open.” Reiner attempts a grin before rubbing his jaw and returning to gingerly slurping down his porridge, which seems like less of a task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tanya for the beta and the zinger!

The signs were there the night before, though no one figures that out.  
  
It had begun after lights-out when Franz had snored loudly and a few light sleepers had tossed enough to blearily notice torchlight spilling in through a crack in the door, some creaks of wooden floor panels, a couple steps up a ladder and the rustle of sheets before they sank back into their pillows.  
  
The next morning, the signs become clearer. Though no one figures that out.  
  
Breakfast is porridge and toast and eggs. Sasha settles in after everyone else, mysteriously having managed to pile more eggs on her plate than the rationed limit. They make small talk, and Eren as usual shoves porridge violently into his mouth as he and Jean debate who will score higher on the cliff exercises today. Franz and Hannah dance around each other, both insisting the other needs more food than what they were given. Ymir stares bleakly at her porridge while Krista encourages her to get a move on.  
  
Bertolt and Reiner arrive later than usual, sporting equally dark shadows under their eyes (though this was per the norm for Bertolt). Marco shuffles aside into Jean to make room. Reiner nods in gratitude. Bertolt sits on the end instead. The chatter returns to normal until there’s a loud coughing sound.  
  
Reiner clasps his neck after a bite of toast and quickly downs an entire glass of milk. He clears his throat a few times. The hoarseness of it elicits a few winces of sympathy from those around him.  
  
“You okay, Reiner?” Thomas asks cautiously, leaning forward.  
  
“Yeah,” Reiner rasps. Marco hurriedly pours his own milk into Reiner’s glass, and Reiner downs that as well.  
  
Jean leans on his elbow and furrows his eyebrows. “You know, if you’re getting sick, you should probably inform someone before it spreads to the rest of us and we’re all bedridden.”  
  
“Shut up, Jean,” says Eren.  
  
Reiner shakes his head. “No. I’m not sick.” Theoretically, this makes sense; Reiner hasn’t contracted so much as a sniffle since the start of their training.  
  
The others adjust on the benches uncomfortably, each sporting a pensive look as they consider the mystery of Reiner’s sore throat.  
  
“Must’ve slept with my mouth open.” Reiner attempts a grin before rubbing his jaw and returning to gingerly slurping down his porridge, which seems like less of a task.  
  
They all go back to their breakfast and individual conversations (Marco and Eren are both chastising Jean in their different ways), though Annie, ever silent, eyes Reiner curiously as she takes a couple bites of egg. It appears to be a return to normal until Mina speaks up from the other end of the table.  
  
“Bertolt, is everything okay?”  
  
The entire table seems to quiet at once and slowly turn to the very end as Bertolt pauses in his breakfast and glances back.  
  
“He’s fine,” Reiner answers instead before clearing his throat and gulping down Thomas’s offered glass of milk.  
  
Mina gives him a look before turning her attention back to Bertolt. “You sure, Bertolt?”  
  
Bertolt nods and begins cutting up his toast again, only to drop his fork and shake out his wrist. He glances across everyone’s faces before looking down at his plate.  
  
“I’m good,” he mutters as he picks up his fork. His face twists a little as he bends his wrist to resume.  
  
“You know,” Annie suddenly says in her low voice, “You could try eating that with your hands for a change.”  
  
Between the shock of Annie speaking during mealtime and Bertolt’s nervously twitching mouth, the table is speechless. Bertolt has always eaten his food with a fork and knife, presumably from a desire not to dirty his hands.  
  
It is Connie who breaks the silence.  
  
“Who wants to bet he slept on it wrong,” he laughs. It's common knowledge among the 104th that no matter how he falls asleep, Bertolt regularly wakes up positioned unfortunately and in a puddle of drool. No one takes their eyes off of him.  
  
“Yes.” Bertolt sets his utensils down and wipes his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Of course.”  
  
Breakfast becomes a delicate affair after that, between Reiner’s pained swallows and Bertolt’s regular winces. At some point, Bertolt stands up and offers his still-full plate to the table. Sasha quickly volunteers. After Krista offers her glass of milk to Reiner, he shakes his head, hand on jaw, and stands up as well.  
  
Sasha’s eyes gleam.  
  
Bertolt and Reiner exchange similarly pathetic looks. They step over the bench in unison, Bertolt waiting for Reiner to walk over before they leave the mess hall together with hunched shoulders and small steps. After they turn the corner, Reiner’s groaning voice can be heard followed by Bertolt’s, though the words are too muddled for anyone to understand.  
  
No matter the angle, something is off. It is hard to put a finger on it.  
  
“Annie,” Armin says, “Do you know anything about this?”  
  
Annie lifts her chin and gives Armin a sidelong glance. “No. Why would I?” She leaves the table carrying her empty tray of food with something of an edge to her gait.  
  
The group exchanges glances until Ymir stands up.  
  
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks. The following silence is punctuated only by the sounds of Sasha munching on eggs and toast.  
  
“No,” Connie finally responds.  
  
“You’re all morons,” Ymir mutters, and begins to walk away.  
  
“Wait, Ymir!” Krista yells angrily, grabbing both her tray and Ymir’s and hiking over the bench, “You can’t just leave your stuff for other people to pick up!”  
  
“I’m done, too,” Jean sighs, pushing himself up, “It’s too early for this.”  
  
Slowly, the rest of the table follows Jean’s example, eyes averted from the spots Reiner and Bertolt once occupied. Eventually, only Sasha and Connie remain. Connie stabs his solitary egg and shoves it in his mouth, frown on his face. Sasha pours milk down her throat and then grins in his direction.  
  
“You know, Connie,” she says between mouthfuls of porridge-soaked toast, “It’s probably wrong of me, but…  
  
If this is what happens after Bertl and Reiner  _do it_ , I wouldn’t mind them keeping it up.”


End file.
